Sunday, April 21, 2013

When Georgina opened her eyes, she was tied hands on back - a situation she knew from earlier years (as you will know if you have read those of Enid Blyton's books where the title starts with "Five ..."). George was - poor guy - swaying back and forth with closed eyes in front of a man who seemed to dominate him. A thin and short man. Behind them there was some kind of broad fire - like fire for barbecues, but with no grate on it and much broader than any barbecue she had seen yet. She realised why the room was hot and she was thirsty.

Behind that there was some idol. Six arms, like the statues of Shiva in India. But unlike those, the head was a vulture's head, and the fingers and toes were rather claws, just as there was a beak on the vulture's head. It was an evil idol. I mean, idols are not exactly good, at least as far as Christianity is concerned, but Roman and Greek ones were usually at least gentle. This one was avid for blood.

"You thought you could rebel, that you could shake off Tash."

"Yes," said George in a very dry and lifeless voice.

What she heard thereafter, she was not able to recall without vomiting, so she has not told word for word. But it included a very abject submission from the poor enchanted George and also a very ugly incantation to someone or something called Tash (more than once called inexorable) by the evil little man. She looked about for something that could comfort her. At her side there was a Roman Catholic priest. But he too seemed under some daze.

Beyond him there was Simon, the father of George.

She got no further in looking about, since what happened before the idol called her attention back to it.

"Show us you are a vulture ..."

George started crying out with shrieks more birdish than human. And not the nicest birds at that. Then he started pecking on the ground, incredibly fast for a human as if guided by the forces of a bird, he picked up an unfortunate frog and swallowed it alive.

"Show us you can kill ..." the small man handed George a knife. A crooked knife like those found in the far off eastern countries. "Kill that girl" he said and pointed at Georgina.

George took the knife and started against his fiancée, the stopped.

"You need to practise a bit first. Pick some more food from the ground."

And George started pecking again, not using his hands except to still hold that crooked knife. He pecked after a very fortunate rat, whe ran away just in time. And he came closer and closer to Georgina.

She was sure he was so much under a spell that he would eventually kill her unless something happened. What could break a spell like that? Well, maybe some Christian confession of the truth. Of Christ's triumph over hell.

"The plowman answered then the priest,
Sir, I believe in Jesus Christ
Who suffered death and harrowed Hell
As I have heard mine elders tell."

As she said those words a few things happened. The evil man went forth to slap her. George, who was still under the spell and acted like a bird somehow found the independence to be a bird who shoved that man (who was occupied with other things than controlling him), and he shoved him so he fell into the fire. And the priest opened his eyes, just in time to hear the agony of the evil man, and see him try to get out of the fire but being pushed back time after time by George, who was using the pecking technique - as vulturish as the spell had made him.

Saturday, April 20, 2013

"She might be in a very bad state," the doctor said to his assistant. "I'll try another one."

He turned back to Susan.

"It is important that we know where Rose is."

"Why? So you can force her to an abortion?"

"Oh, why are you so demonising? You know that is illegal."

Susan said nothing. God knows what she would have done if certain drugs used now had been in use back then.

"Why are you against abortion anyway? You know she cannot get a job, you know her child would depend on her parents?"

Susan could not believe she heard such cynicism. And from a doctor. Then she looked again at the assistant, the man who had envied the Dresden bomber. Now she did believe it.

"You mean that life is sacred to you, in some way?"

"Isn't it to you?" Susan had to force herself to dare respond like that, but she would not respond with less anymosity, and she did not dare not to respond. Like it was a snake and a mouse did not dare take its eyes off it.

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

He paused.

"In a manner of speaking, life is sacred. But it is short. It is my art which is long. And now it teaches us how to save lives noone could save before. Or to deal death."

"Without death," he continued, as she looked at him sullenly, "life would be crowded and choke itself to death."

She saw a flaw: "It could hardly do that if there was no death for life to choke itself to, even by getting crowded."

"Supposing it did not? Supposing every life engendered was born, and every life born stayed alive for all eternity - on this little earth of ours. But however much you dislike death, it won't happen like that. Death is to the biosphere what surgeons are to bodies."

He continued as she bit her lips: "A surgeon - usually - leaves what is healthy in the body. Death leaves only - that also just usually - what is the most healthy."

"That is a lie." She knew her siblings and cousin and former pupil had not been sick, and even the old ones, Professor Kirke and Miss Plummer, were - except for Professor Kirke's white hairs and ill hearing, from an episode with cannibals with loud drums, as healthy as people can expect when sixtyish.

"Statistically it is true. What does science, what does life as a whole, care about the individual exceptions?"

"I do care. I am neither 'science,' nor 'life as a whole,' but I do care. Have you met them by the way?"

"Met whom?"

"Science. And life-as-a-whole. Have you met them?"

The doctor nodded to his assistant. He was scribbling.

What he was scribbling she was given an idea of as the doctor said:

"My dear. We must take things easy. We will give you time to rest and think things out. You know - 'science' and 'life as a whole' are not people."

She was flabberghasted. She had never said they were. That had been her whole point ... was he an idiot? She opened her mouth ...

"Hush now. You needn't thank me for pointing out the obvious to you. That is what we are for, here in the loonybin."

She silently appreciated his wonderful "magnanimity".

"But to continue ... I will venture on a bit ... though usually I would just have left you now for at least a month ... You see, death is what drives evolution forward. Without death we would be amoebas."

"It would seem it's rather death that turns us over to amoebas ... or whatever makes corpses smell."

"Well - before it did that, it killed some amoebas in the mud that did not cooperate, while the others who did got to be a manycelled animal."

She was silent.

"Later on, death killed off some manycelled animals because they had no symmetry - and gave a chance to the first spine carrying animal, which conveniently had just developed."

"How convenient!"

"Are you aware how very much you look like your sister when you say that? She also would not believe evolution."

"Maybe she had some sense?"

"Not exactly what you thought yourself back then. Remember, it was you who confided her to us, both occasions."

She was silent, since she regretted that. But he who had taken advantage was hardly the person to blame her.

"Formerly, people would argue that God created the world. With all species. As far as the species are concerned evolution is God. Death is our god. Death who kills off what does not fit into its environment."

"Wouldn't that be a smelly kind of god? Death brings corruption, most often, and corruption smells."

The doctor turned sadly his eyes to the assitant.

"So there, so there ..." the doctor said soothingly: "don't you believe in science?"

"Which one of them?"

"Well, evolution, for one!"

"As mostly atheist agnostic over past few years, I have a hard time believing in anything supernatural." (She did not feel worth mentioning that she had been a Catholic for a month or so before falling away again after failing to confess the betrayal against Lucy)

"Supernatural?" the doctor raised his voice ... "but it is not supernatural. It's as natural as anything there is. It's as natural as death. It's ... some of us call it the life force. Nothing like a personal god or anything of course."

"Isn't that supernatural?"

The doctor fell silent. He walked to the window. He looked out.

"We'll have to talk about evolution another time. Not now."

Then he paused again. He walked back to Susan and took another subject:

"You must admit that without abortion there would be too many people on earth, right?"

"No, not exactly right."

"Think of it. Some girls get pregnant and cannot afford it. What becomes of their offspring? Beggars!"

He pronounced the word as if it were dirtier than words like "slut".

"Well, I would think any sane beggar prefers having been born," ventured Susan.

"No, no, no: any sane beggar knows he is a burden to society and regrets the day he was born and conceived. You will at least admit condoms are useful to decrease the numbers of the unproductive?"

"No, if they are unproductive it just means they are out of work, usually."

"But if there was no work for them to earn their living with ... why should they have the burden of existance?"

Susan felt as if she was talking to a doctor who had been active in experiments in those horrid camps. Pa said that too few doctors were tried at Nuremberg - and ma heartily agreed. While they lived, that is.

"Why could there not be work for them?"

"They are no longer needed at the farms for one. Nearly everyone lives in cities nowadays. More and more so, actually. So, if one cannot find a decent work in a city, one might as well not have been born."

"If left to themselves, with enough food, people usually find something to do and appreciate each other for, economically as well."

"But have you thought what happens when the petrol ceases to flow? Tractors won't work, so less food will be produced. Cars won't work, so less of the food will get to town. People will die in millions!"

"It's hardly tractors and cars that produce the food ..."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"With people getting back to the country, there will be less need of tractors for plowing, or none at all, and for them no need of the cars either, since they live where the food grows."

"But people are not getting back to the country. It's against progress. It's against evolution. It's against the development."

"How do you know that?"

"Look at what's happening now. People are more and more moving away from farms, especially after the tractors took over their work during war. They won't want to go back. They'd rather die than go back."

"But why?"

"Because it has been going on for quite a while and the trend has not been reversed."

Susan thought a bit of whether there had not been an opposite trend away from cities during the fall of the Roman Empire, but history was not her best subject. So she asked a more principled question:

"So if a trend has gone on in one direction, without being reversed, does that mean to you it will go on forever in that direction?"

"Maybe not forever, but highly unlikelty it changes over night either."

"Why not try to change it to save lives, then?"

"Because that would be against progress."

"Even if progress kills?"

"Yes."

"Just because it is a trend that has been going on?"

"Yes."

"Now, that is fuddled!"

She was usually in the habit of thinking so herself up till now, but she was not so hard into the habit as to condone murderous conclusions of it.

"Ah, it is I who am fuddled, is it?"

"It was you who said ..."

"Enough. It was you who shot arrows into the arm of a policeman, in the vain hope to stop an abortion."

"Vain or not, that is why I did it." Susan did not feel any regrets about that.

"Now, that is what I call fuddled. And here the one who decides what is fuddled is ... I."

He said so with tragic grandour, turned and told his assistant: "she'll have to stay a few days at least," and then walked out.

The doctor sat contemplating the notes taken by his assistant and those already there. He had to read them through before adding two decisions and a signature:

Diagnosis

Ordination

Notes

Believes she is Susan Pevensie, Queen of Narnia, of a children's book.

Unduly defends adolescent mothers against abortion being imposed.

Shoots at policemen with arrows. No sense of guilt or compassion. Dangerous.

Is naïve to the extreme about evolution and malthusianism.

Thinks evolution, when explained, is stinking with corruption. Morbid. Still considers herself an atheist. Illogical.

Fits of paranoid discomfort in presence of her helpers.

Considers malthusianism and progress fuddled and has a childish immature faith in rural restoration. No sense of reality at all.

Signed

He nodded as he found the résumé of the interview correct and as he, without verifying himself, had no doubt about whoever had said she took herself for a Queen of Narnia. Then he added a diagnosis:

Diagnosis

Schizophrenia? Might be though somewhat untypical.

Ordination

Notes

Believes she is Susan Pevensie, Queen of Narnia, of a children's book.

Unduly defends adolescent mothers against abortion being imposed.

Shoots at policemen with arrows. No sense of guilt or compassion. Dangerous.

Is naïve to the extreme about evolution and malthusianism.

Thinks evolution, when explained, is stinking with corruption. Morbid. Still considers herself an atheist. Illogical.

Fits of paranoid discomfort in presence of her helpers.

Considers malthusianism and progress fuddled and has a childish immature faith in rural restoration. No sense of reality at all.

Signed

And here was his decision and signature to it as well:

Diagnosis

Schizophrenia? Might be though somewhat untypical.

Ordination

Must be confined for at least a week. If better, must have a new trial, as guilty. If not ...

Notes

Believes she is Susan Pevensie, Queen of Narnia, of a children's book.

Unduly defends adolescent mothers against abortion being imposed.

Shoots at policemen with arrows. No sense of guilt or compassion. Dangerous.

Is naïve to the extreme about evolution and malthusianism.

Thinks evolution, when explained, is stinking with corruption. Morbid. Still considers herself an atheist. Illogical.

Fits of paranoid discomfort in presence of her helpers.

Considers malthusianism and progress fuddled and has a childish immature faith in rural restoration. No sense of reality at all.

Signed

Peter Sorner, Dr. Med. Psych. Spec.

If you have read a book called The Silver Chair, you may well recall that Spotty Sorner was one of the Gang that the others referred to as "They". His name was Peter and he made a carreer in psychiatry. People who like bullying do not get to bully quite freely and openly, fortunately, unless they are guards and bully poor beggars, which was not yet the case as much and which is hardert work and less well paid anyway. So, they say they are just helping the bullied person if they can. And if they are psychiatrists they can get away with that. Later, when he was ousted from English psychiatry, he went over to Sweden and continued his criminal activity over there. With the blessing of the state and policemen.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

The weather was sunny, and Susan walked to school. She said hi to Rose and two other pupils who passed, but she stopped on her way as she saw a beggar. "Hello" she said and started getting into her purse, "could a shilling or two be of assistance?"

"Sure," said the beggar. "Always appreciated."

She gave him three shillings and went on.

At school she was going to spend the next hour in the office or in training or ... without lessons, anyway.

Portman looked in: "The Principal wants to speak to you!"

"Sure," she said, "know about what?"

"Seems there was an incident on the road to school today."

"OK, didn't notice any incident, but ..."

She put on some lip gloss - not too much - and knocked at the principal's door.

"Come in!"

She opened the door. "Yes?"

"Have a seat."

She did.

"Do you own a fortune?"

"No? Why?"

"You are not a millionaire?"

"Would I be working here then?"

"Oh, some millionnaires will have their fads. Heard of the one who tamed a crocodile?"

"Well, only tame crocodiles I do are shoes. They do not always cost a fortune."

"You are one hundred percent sure that you have no hidden pirate treasure lying around anywhere?"

"If it does, it is more than I know. Mind getting to the point?"

"Point is, three pupils saw you giving money to a beggar."

"Yes?"

"Did you?"

"Possibly - why?"

"No sense denying, there were three who saw you. Only one spoke out, so far, but I can hear the other two as well."

"Don't bother. I did. So, what is the problem?"

"Do you feel that everyone and anyone can do everything and anything they like?"

"No, not in particular."

"Should, for instance, every child be able to skip school?"

"If he or she had some other sensible thing to learn, yes. There are people who are bright as the stars in scouting but pretty dense in school, so why should they be in school?"

"Life is not a game. Scouting is for fun, but school is serious. Life is serious."

"Not worse than you make it really. Besides, school is worse than scouting for preparing some lines of business, when it comes to that."

"So why are you teaching in a school then?"

"Because I was good at sports. You know, it's not like I was a math genious or a language genius at school. And it's not like I am teaching history, though archery certainly has something to do with Crécy and Azincourt, if you'll tell me so, no doubt."

"A namesake of yours, in a novel seems to have had similar ideas."

Uh uh ... this could be getting into trouble.

"And they made sure that young dwarfs and satyrs were not forced to go to school ..."

"What novel is that, and who is they?"

"They are: Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy ... Pevensie. And the novel is 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' by one Clive Staples Lewis ..."

"Don't you say so now?"

"Now, would you agree with the sentiment?"

"Let's see ... satyrs are seldom hired as office clerks, and even dwarfs are more usually smiths than businessmen ... I've known about a learned dwarf, but he was only half dwarf ..."

"Enough of this nonsense!"

She fell silent.

"I do not want to hear my teachers give money to good for nothings who beg in the street. I do not want to hear it at all, but especially not that it is done before pupils."

"To hear you talking, one might presume I had been dancing can can on Moulin Rouge or something?"

"Giving an example of false generosity is worse!"

"False generosity?"

"You felt generous when you gave him the money, right?"

"Not very, it was not much."

"But you felt you were doing him a favour, right?"

"And you are going to tell me I was not?"

"How do you know he won't spend it on beer, for one?"

"How do you know ..." she lifted her hands to enumerate on fingers: "a) that he will, and ... b) that it would be a bad thing?"

"I can't have you setting such an example of been naive! You know how beggars are like!"

Susan recalled an Edmund who one of the moments at his worst had said "you know what fauns are like ..."

"They are all liars. You can never trust what they say. And you can never trust them to remain sober."

Meanwhile poor George was cackling like a rooster and pecking the ground. He just swooped down on a rat, got it up, bit its neck apart and started chewing ...

Georgina felt so disgusted, so she looked away and hurried up.

Father Brown, once free, stood up and started with a cracked voice, which soon became full and valiant and quarrelsome:

"... get thee out of this creature of God, foul demon, get thee out, Apollo or rather Apollyon, Shiva, Satan, Abaddon or whatever by thy Hellish name ... get thee out, foul Tash or even evolutionary life force, if such be thy hellish name ... of this creature of God, thy Lord against whom thou rebelledest and out of this room and out of the idolatrous image with which thou beguilest the unwary, in the name of the Father + and of the Son + and of the Holy + Ghost!"

He had made a sign of the cross for each of the three Persons as he spoke the Holy Name of the Triune God.

George dropped the rat. He seemed to be coughing. A stench as from a dead cat that had been lying on a hot street for days came out ... then he threw up ... and what came out was a smoke which took form as of a greyish putrid smoke and a shape nearly human except for the vulture head, and for the arms which were six instead of two, with claws instead of fingers. Exactly as the evil looking idol, but worse. George rolled over and was as if dead.

The demon stood upright and menacing against Father Brown, but he managed to get hold of his Crucifix and brandish it ... and the demon shrieked as if in pain and grew weak ... a shriek which curled the blood ad filled men and women with terror. Until it was reduced to a wail.

"Don't go soft on him now," whispered Georgina under her breath. But the priest had gone on menacing the demon.

Father Brown renewed his efforts and said a "begone, begone from the world of men!" with the cross on high.

Tash uttered another shriek of terror, and fled, across the fire, through the statue of itself, into some void. And the statue's limbs began to tremble, and totter, and it fell, and it lay in the fire, beside its chief worshipper, the bad Telmarine, the evil police officer, the former seducer of George to devilworship, who groaned.

"If I could untie someone's ropes and one could quench the fire, maybe we could save this man. He needs repentance."

He untied the ropes of Georgina, and of Charles, and these untied the ropes of Julian and Dick. And - with an excuse for the delay - Father Brown untied the ropes of old Simon. Then he went over to George, made a sign on the cross over the forehead, said "wake up young fool, should not have been dabbling in these things, you know ..." and if George did not wake up immediately, at least he moaned.

Meanwhile the others - or one of them - had found out how to turn on some water, and it filled the fiery basin with a sizzling and smoke - a much nicer smoke than the stench of Tash - and hot steam as water got hotter and lesser flames as fire grew weaker. Charles drew up the moaning evil man from the fire basin, where he had so oeftn committed ritual murders to honour the expelled demon.

"You were my boss at the police station, but now you are under arrest. You shall get to hospital and to prison, do you hear me?"

"You're a fool, I'm dying before I get anywhere like that."

And he lost consciousness, and before he reached the hospital he was dead.

But before the ambulance even came for him, George regained his consciousness. And Georgina and Simon and Father Brown were all looking at him. With some concern.

"I have a funny taste of blood in my mouth," he said (and indeed he had rat blood around the lips), "what happened?"

"We will tell you later, right now you seem to need a glass of brandy to wash your mouth ..."

And George who was himself again could indicate where that could be gotten, and they all had brandy - a glass each. "A friend of mine," said Father Brown, "said one should thank God for Beer and Brandy by not drinking too much of them. One can add: by not omitting the occasions when needed."

When the ambulance had arrived and taken away the unconscious culprit, they walked upstairs into the kitchen for breakfast. It was no longer night, but morning and the sun was bright.

Father Brown tottered into a chair. "Sorry, but this is the first time I deal with manifestations of the demonic. Like this. I am not sure I will be able to celebrate Mass this morning. I am not quite as used to things like this as a Franciscan in Pietrelcina that I have heard of."

"Now, that is nonsense. You would be ritually impure, and you said yourself you do not eat it."

"I am ritually impure. For life. Zat is vy I drink. Ant I dit not say ve eat zose matzoth."

"But if so ... why did you do it?"

"By obedience. Vun must obey, at least the Cohens. At least ze guy told me ze orrderr came from a Cohen."

"What guy?"

"The guy I vos obeying."

"You are not sure he was a Cohen? Are you even sure he was Jewish?"

"Oh, he vos Yewish all right. Zat I coult tell, he mate it very opvious. Not yust knowing about Yewish sings, but being Yewish. He geiff ze orrderr in Hebrew. Ve talkt about a lot off sings, he showet me time after time he vos loyal to ze Yewish Community ant hat a right to Commant me."

"But matzoth are eaten, right?"

"Matzoth are eaten."

"And you never would eat matzoth with blood in them?"

"Zat is a horribull sing to eat, no I voult neverr. Everr."

"So you are just making this up right?"

"Vy shoult I? I am a drunkarrt becoss I killt a Christian boy, I sait. Ant I mean it."

"But the part of draining his blood and baking matzoth ..."

"Is true ass vell. But I neverr sait ve eat of zose matzoth. Ve may be criminal, ve are not mat."

"Why then?"

"Becos he vos a Christian, I sait. Are you hearing ill? A bit young forr zat ... I't say."

"He vos to testify on vot he knew about Yews killing Christian boys. He prretendet to be perrfectly ignorant. He prretendet he did not know ziss parrt off ze Talmut or zat parrt off ze Talmut. Ze defence hat a goot laugh at him."

He paused. Susan stood there unsure of herself, she did not want to understand.

"He tolt Beyliss, zat ze Eyteenss Cannon off ze Fourrss Laterran Council voult make him impurre ass a prriest if he mate a man hang in ze gallows, even a guilty man. Vot iss ziss sing ze Christians haff about not punishing guilt? It's absurrt! A Cohen shoult be prrout if he helps to punish a bat man."

Susan was feeling a bit more disgusted than just before. She realised that the drunk man just could be telling the truth.

"You will excuse me, I have to go now."

"But you vill not tell, vill you?"

"Not while you can be reckoned as alive. But it seems everyone here knows anyway."

"Zey do, zat's vy I am an outcast. Zat's vy I drink."

And he poured himself another glass, while Susan left. Well, she thought, better not tell the Israeli's, if she did, he could be shut up in a madhouse if he was just imagining it. Not a thing she wished even her enemies, after tasting it a few years back. He might even be shut up in a madhouse for telling the truth, for all she knew.

Friday, April 12, 2013

"I've seen a god of the Canaanites and Tyrians destroyed, and a Catholic priest did it ..." Simon White spoke that.

Father Brown blushed.

"Oh, the least I can do for the true one - once the physical odds are not too daunting immediately."

"All of my life, I have regarded Christians, especially Catholics, as worshippers of Bopheth."

"And today you have seen we are not."

"Tell us about the true Messiah!"

"How do you know Jesus Christ is the true one?"

"I saw you handle the demon. But more important, I saw you not be impressed by the swagger of the mage."

"I thought he was a fake mage, I had the habit. Never met a true one before."

"But your argument rests? The true God is neither cruel nor a lover of mystery for its own sake, but a loving father of his creatures and truth without a shade of lie?"

"That remains my answer."

"Even in front of the magic you saw?"

"You saw its unmaking, did you not?"

"Yes, of course ... I did. But once you had not seen it. Would you have doubted while he was strong?"

"Not one second. I mean, Odin did the same tricks in front of poor old Gylfi* in Sweden."

"If you had been brought to a previous life, would you have accepted that you were a reincarnation?"

"No."

"But if you had had memories of it?"

"I might conclude that either hypnosis opened my mind defenselessly to some show of demons, or some show of elves who did not want to be taken too seriously, or that my life had been extended into some loop of time, or anything leaving my soul and my body same relation since they were created in my mothers womb, nine months before my birth, and will remain until they are separated at the hour of my death (which may be soon, considering my age, Holy Mary Mother of God pray for us!). But I would not conclude my religion was in error."

"Then it shall be mine and my son's. I am Simon Ben Ruben White, my son is George White."

"George is a Greek name - has he no Hebrew name?"

"Ha, I thought I would trick you on that one, if only for a moment ... no, I did not, here is his full name: George Ruben Ben Simon White."

"Your father died when he was born?"

"He did."

"George Ruben - will you also study the Christian faith as your father wants you to?"

"Well, I can hardly ask Georgina to become Jewish, since she is not."

And that is how two conversions were decided, but Susan was not told this until some time later.

*Gylfi is pronounced with f like v. G is hard or like J or like Y. The vowel Y is best like French u or German ü, but an I (short) will do. He was the first known King of Upsala, the last of the previous régime, whether he was also first or not. He allowed Odin to usurp his place after being shown some hypnotic stuff and told a cock-and-bull story of the grand Marduk-killed-a-monster-and-created-the-earth style. Snorri wrote about it in Gylfaginning. Since Odin's cock-and-bull story was accepted by Swedes and Norse and Icelanders before they became Christian, it was just afterwards, so to speak, "required reading" for those wishing to understand recent pagan poetry. And Snorri was one Christian who did wish that. St. Olaf, the Christian convert and Martyr King of Norway, who descended from Odin or from his stepson Frey, was content to say "he must be dead, since he appears as a ghost" - after getting one such visit at night.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

They were outside the house of the thin, short policeman with the evil eyes, whom we know already and whom George White denounced as a worshipper of Tash, a renegade Telmarine from the Pirate Island where the Telmarines had gone centuries before.

"Someone has to keep watch outside", said Julian. "And try to contact the police if you do not get out in time - with or without him."

"I want to get in," said Georgina impulsively.

"No way," said George.

"Neither are you then."

"But that man ruined years and years of my life! He destroyed my morals after taking me out of the camp. Systematically. He made life outside the camp in some respects even worse than camp itself!"

"Precisely why you should keep out of here. He had a hold on you."

Simon broke in: "but not on me. I am in to avenge for the horrors he did to my son. And made him do."

"Father, I know the house best."

"That is the worst of reasons with magicians like that. You drew a very good set of maps."

"And we studied them," said Julian.

"OK, I'll keep out then."

"That," resumes Julian, "means I am in with old Mr. White, the two Georges are out ..."

"I am in," said Dick.

"Ann is hopefully already at the radio at Spivvins old place. We'll test." Julian picked up his handie talkie from his rucksack and pushed a five, then pushed the talking button. "Julian calling Ann. Julian calling Ann. Do you hear me?" - He left off pushing to receive.

A voice from the "walkie talkie" (as they are now called, but back then these were bigger) was heard: "I hear you fine, brother! I mean Ann calling Julian and all that and hearing you fine."

"We are getting in now, me Simon and Dick. The two Georges are waiting outside."

"Got it: Julian, Dick, Simon, into the house. Georgina and George outside."

All were missing Tim, of course. But he would not be barking at the wrong moment. Or chasing a rabbit.

"That is right. We're off - over."

"Noted, 23:53 three into house - over."

Julian put his HT into the rucksack and the three men crossed the road, broke a window, which set off a howling alarm, went in quickly. The two outside received Nobby and Charlie who had been posing as "thieves getting scared off" by the alarm.

Two people came to notice Tom Spivvins praying by Eustace. First came Aunt Alberta.

"What are you doing by my son?"

"Praying. For his soul."

"Was he so bad you need to worry?"

"At one time, yes. But after that I owe him, and I owe him the prayers."

"And that ... kind of ... I don't know ... sign you made?"

"The Sign of the Cross. I am a Catholic."

"Oh ..."

"Tom!" bawled a man from the group who had been singing Dies Irae. Tom Spivvins turned - and so did Susan. The man had turned his back to them, but now she recognised him. It was the cab driver from yesterday. Even if the man on the ground was very like him.

"Ah, my young lady - you did get home - but only to get bad news this morrow no doubt. I felt it jesterday, when the car jerked, that something was wrong. And here is my twin brother. We were always close."

"I thought you were dead, that would have been a blow." Susan was that one moment pretty smiling and radiant for such a day. One person she had thought was dead, who was not.

"That may come soon enough. Thank you for caring about me."

"Well, I guess I owe you that after your standing up for me last night."

"No one could have done it otherwise and called himself a man afterwards!"

Even if the figure was not very Christ like, as physical stature goes, she felt as a little reminder of ... an empty stone table she had seen in Narnia. And an empty grave some had seen in Palestine nearly two thousand years ago. She nearly forgot to add "if that is true, now" ...

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Even though Susan Pevensie, now married Errol, could not speak up in public, not on the matter of being Susan Pevensie and Queen of Narnia, things started getting right or at least somewhat better anyway.

Even the publically recognised revelations of seers such as Lucy of Fatima was not quite enough to set things straight in the Twentieth Century. No Pope has so far in total publicity consecrated Russia to the Most Pure Heart of Our lady. Nor were the memories of Narnia that this other survivor of a kind of vision fought for enough to set them straight.

School compulsion did go on and even worse in England. Psychiatry did go on - but get a little better in ways - in England. Child welfare continued and continues to this day to take children away from their parents. Libraries were even banning the Narnia books - exactly as planned in the lodge of Tash - and psychiatrists would recognise the "patients of schizophrenia" for carrying their Lord of the Rings - also as planned there. Not all and everyone applying this was personally an evil person. Most were just corrupted in general judgement of morals, though trying to be as good as that allowed them.

No, this cannot be seen as "great deeds were done and succeeded and made all things better for everyone", this is rather like "great deeds were done, that were not wholly in vain."** In England the Narnian Kings and Queens were no rulers, but subjects, and the rulers they had - the real, not the ceremonial ones - were not half as wise as four children had been, the oldest of whom was twelve, when crowned after the First Battle of Beruna.

But the lodge of Tash was dissolved, though it is rumoured its members such as neither repented nor died joined some other evil lodge. The policemen belonging to it and even Nathan Coon were dispelled from their professions. And its evil founder from the Telmarine Island made a carreer in the House of Commons. I cannot guarantee you that he wasn't even made a noble and went to the House of Lords. But he he did not dare bother Susan Errol in England again. Nor George White, who had been his initiate and was now a Catholic. If he had no morals, he had a fear of the price of such transgressions. He kept in the main quiet and wated for times, if not better as such, at least more prosperous to his projects. Times when doctors would murder and maim unborn people. Times when sodomites might pretend to be better parents for children than illiterates.

And if the fortunes of Susan and Audoin, of Tom and Sarah, of George and Georgina, of Rose and Roman and their children were not exactly spectacular, they were at least quiet, for a while at least, while raising their toddlers.

*As I write this, these are not yet the final words from the author, I will still be adding chapters earlier than this one./HGL

**A bonus to any reader who recognises which citation is the right one and from what book by what author. It would be widely known among readers who from their earlier reading have an interest in my story. An extra bonus if without looking you can say which chapter it is - I have forgotten (if you are family with the author, the extra bonus does not count).

They were silent for a while and sipped the tea, looking in silence at each other, not quite without affection. It was Susan who resumed the conversation:

"If fairy mounds are demonic, how come we are in a fairy mound unless we are demonic?"

"Say a Hail Mary."

Susan did, and added a Gloria Patri with a Sign of the Cross. Audoin joined in with the sign and the Amen.

"So, if you could do that," he said, "how can we be demonic? Besides, if you mean possessed it is called demoniac and not demonic. They cannot pray when the devil tightens the grip on them."

"So fairy mounds aren't demonic?"

"Some may be. But demons are just fallen angels, not fallen gods. And angels are creatures, and creatures cannot perfectly dominate the totality of being of any other creature, freewilled or not. If demons can work hypnotism, it must be that hypnotic states of mind can exist according to the decree of the Creator. Not that a demonically worked hypnotism would be according to the law of God, but in conclusion then some hypnotic states are not demonically worked. And as with the states of mind, so with time: if time had no possibility of flowing faster at one place as such, demons could not make it do so in a fairy mound either."

"They can deceive, so they might seem to make it do so?"

"If Oisín had lived as an old man seeing his son Oscar die a century or two before St Patrick arrived, and then got into a fairy mound, and then went out and met St Patrick, the time passing in the mound must have been shorter and not just seemed shorter to him in the fairy mound. Unless he was sharing a life making him longer lived. And that cannot have been a demonic illusion either."

"He could by demonic illusion have been thinking he was an Oisín living centuries earlier when he was not?"

"That is right, but in that case he would have been baptised under a wrong identity - and it was not just any man, not even just any saint, but Saint Patrick who baptised him."

"So Saint Patrick would have detected his true identity if he hadn't been Ossian son of Finn Mac Cool?"

"If he hadn't been Oisín, Mac Finn, Ua Cumhal, Saint Patrick would have restored his true identity before baptising him. So was it the demons who slowed down time - related to the time passing around - or something else?"

"The demons ... or not. They have no perfect domination over time, or none at all, only God has that. As with the lifespan of Oisín."

"Precisely. So if St Patrick had gone to the fairy mound where Oisín had been, and exrocised it, there might still have been a fairy mound with another time - just no demons deluding or perverting the people in it."

"So 'fairies' could be simply 'people living in fairy land' - or having lived there. In that case - is it Usheen you say it?"

"Usheen, MacFing, Oouh Cooull."*

"In that case Oisín was a fairy as well as a bard for whatever remained of his life, even as a Christian."

"And that," said Audoin, "might be why Christian people may have fairy blood in them."

"Like the Duchess who renounced the house of Lords ..." said Susan.

"Or a charwoman," said Audoin.

"Or Mrs Lefay" said both with one mouth. As Susan was talkative, she added: "I bet she was a bad fairy."

"That is what Mr. Kirke told his uncle."

"Yes, I know."

"For my own part I am not so sure. She did give her godson Andrew a very sound and good order. If he had followed it, he might have avoided some unsound Blavatskaya stuff, to mention only the least bad in it."

"Blavatskaya - you mean Blavatsky?"

"Her husband of father would have been Blavatsky. But in Russian the family names are adjectives, and Blavatskaya is the feminine form."

"But aren't all Christians agreed it is all rot? I mean, not just reincarnation and consulting mediums for spirits of the dead, but fairies too?"

"So, was Malory a Pagan? Or Chrétien de Troyes? Or whoever wrote that Ogier the Dane will return after living in some fairy mound? Do you mean they were Pagans?"

"No, but they lived, like Malory in the fifteenth century. He is not a Christian of Our Period."

"Good Lord help you, dear!"

Audoin looked flabberghasted as he said it. It was not too bad. She was not hit in the face or something. He did not pick up an axe or tie her to a stake. He did not even spill any of his tea or drop a cucumber sandwich. But it was not quite comfy either. Susan sipped a mouthful of her tea. She looked up with innocent, nearly catlike, eyes. he was listening.

"You have been to Narnia. You have seen a Centaur in Egypt. You are right now in a fairy mound. And you of all people tell me that Malory and the other Medievals do not count, because they are not contemporary."

She waited to see if he would see she had been teasing him with that last remark.

"What does 'not contemporary' mean anyway? Emerson was not contemporary with the grammophone or radio, so we do not go to him for opinions on the best time span for a three minute hit. But that is no reason to discount what he has an opinion on. If I discount some of his opinions, it is because he was a Transcendental, poor soul, and I am a Christian and know better. Including better than Emerson's disciples today, if they are no Christians."*

"But hasn't the Malory and Chrétien de Troyes stuff been disproven since?"

Saturday, April 6, 2013

"You could run away. But I haven't seen the gipsies lately who took care of Rose Pole. Not even sure if she did get away. And without their help it may be difficult."

"So, what else?"

"If they were chasing someone else, while you were on the run. If I were on the run too, and a greater priority."

"Why should they chase you?"

"Oh, they have chased me before. After I shot at policemen with arrows."

Sarah opened her eyes as widely as they get with the narrow slits of Esquimeaux eyes. "Was that you?"

"It was. But my archery was bad, at least insufficient for the occasion. I was soon taken and my friend George had to drive away with and get caught without the young mother. I am still not sure if they made it."

"I have not heard that Rose Pole was ever seen any more in that area - or anyone like her. She may have changed her name."

"As if she were married, for instance ... or at least got a refuge with the gypsies!" Susan smiled for the first time in this conversation. "Know what - George is not around, tomorrow you will have to take the policemen's car, and in order to do so you will have to do some shooting. You know archery, Tom?"

"I do, and I have a good bow."

"One moment, dear: if we shoot, we may get shot."

"A risk we will have to take. Cholmondely Major is hardly the person we can trust to do anything according to the better laws that are most respectful of families."

"Not what I meant," said Sarah. "We can get shot and wounded very badly, and we can get shot and wounded not so badly."

"OK?"

"When family were shooting moose, the ones that had the belly full of food were the most easily killed, and died in the worst agaonies, if we happened to shoot them there. We tried not to, of course."

"So you mean we should fast?"

"Not quite. We eat a good meal now, go to the toilet early tomorrow, and only drink holly tea until the police come. That way, with empty stomachs, we cannot be wounded so badly. - If hit in the stomach of course."

"Will be a good idea. So, what shall we eat?"

"Fried dried moose meat with cream sauce and potatoes. A solid Canadian meal will do us good."

And they had a cheerful evening, planning how to do the defense for the next day. Then they went to bed, after a Rosary all prayed in common. All fifteen mysteries.

Susan sat down at Spivvins family table. The people around her were nice, but distressed by a bad concern. Tom and Sarah - the Englishman and the Esquimeaux woman - told their boys and girls to introduce themselves. Thaddaeus, Colin, Sonya, Cora. And the little toddlder who was introduced by Sonya: Patrick. All of them had black hair, but less straight than their mother's. And their eyes were a bit wider and more European than hers as well.

"As you remember," said Tom, "this is my wife, but what I didn't tell you is ..."

Here the Esquimeaux woman, Sarah, continued:

"I am an outlaw under Canadian law. A fugitive. I should have gone to residential school, I might have been sterilised. Pa took me away in time. I grew up in hiding, and I have not learned to read or write. Does that make me a bad woman?"

"Of course not!"

"And yet some say I am a bad mother. I cannot read or write."

"But they can learn that in school here?"

"Yes, but if you ask one social worker here, I am setting a bad example."

"By not having been to school so they could have prevented you from having the children you are setting an example to? I would certainly call that a good example."

"That is not what the social worker thinks. What is her name, Tom?"

"We called her Cholmondeley* Major at school."

"And what did she do to Eustace?"

"She tortured him so she could know your secret. That I am Catholic, that you were promised to me and an Esquimeaux. And, of course, that you never learned to read or write."

"Did he tell?"

"He told me he did not. But someone did. At least the fact that you cannot read or write, since everyone already knows we are Catholics and you are an Esquimeaux."

"But the worst thing is, I eat and drink other foods than English do."

"And comfortably forgot it was the smaller one while we were consuming the tea. OK, will do my duty as a host this time and - hear me clearly - take a tea pot of decent size for two grown English persons. Meaning not too small a pot."

"It was the only one I found."

"Wait ... you were too disgusted to look behind the pile of dishes?"

"It was big and we were in a hurry for tea. But you do seem to need a wife ..." She blushed modestly.

"OK, while I cook tea, I will wash the dishes too. NO. I mean it. You are not my wife yet, and I do have some manners as a host."

"I am not so sure about that."

"I mean it."

He went out, clearly angered at himself, and laughed out loud as he reached the kitchen.

"HOW DID YOU DO IT?"

"CAN'T HEAR YOU!" she bawled back.

In fact she had not just washed the dishes while preparing the little tea pot, but also prepared the greater tea pot so he needed only to warm the water kettle back to boiling a minute and pour the hot water into the tea pot. She was not called gentle Susan for nothing.

"As I was saying," he said while coming back with the larger and more decent tea pot, at leats for two grown English people, "this man Owen Barfield is a Theosophist of the Rudolf Steiner school, and since I am not I have never figured out what their theory of fairies is. Like if they believe them to be Atlanteans with especially pure bloodlines or extraterrestrials with access to their space ships of whatever they make such a fuss about."

"Well, if the stars are moved by angels and if they are close, there is not much chance of them having planets developing life and civilisations and technologies before us, is there?"

"I take it you are no big fan of Steiner ... don't say that too loudly to Owen Barfield. Have you met him?"

"At least heard his daughter Lucy play the piano. She was given a first edition of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, and we got along pretty well on the occasion."

"Did she know you were the Susan ...?"

"She did not start reading while we were talking. She might have figured that out later. Or Lucy - my sister that is - might have told her."

"Then there are of course the Pagan theories ..."

"Aren't they kind of - Pagan?"

"The Pagans are only wrong where they contradict Christianity. Pythagoras was wrong about reincarnation, but not about the square of the hypothenuse or about the octave and fourth and fifth."

"Would you mind making a tea for us? I am after all not just your host, but also your future husband..."

"No risk the police ...?"

"No risk whatsoever, they can go on for hours and hours or even days and never suspect the house and garden is where it is."

When Susan came along with the tea kettle, she asked: "so, if we are in a fairy mound, what are exactly fairies?"

"Now that is a good question. My friend Tollers has an idea they were an older humanity, but immortal, and one whose first parents never fell."

"But if fairies are living on," she said while pouring the tea into the cups, "that would mean they would not need Christ, then?"

"No, it is a dogma that if there were ever pre-adamite men - mind you there is nothing that dogmatically says there were - but IF there were, there are none of them left now. Pope Pius stated it clearly in 1950."

"In that case we cannot be fairies, can we?"

"Not pure ones, no."

"But would'nt the latest limit for such a thing be when Christ came? And aren't fairies sighted mostly after Christ came, I mean in England and Scotland and so?"

"In Ireland the latest limit would be when St Patrick came. But by then the fairy mounds had become something demonic there ... St Patrick baptised a few who were thus released from the devil's might. Like the children of Mananan MacLir who had been turned into swans or like the bard Ossian, or more correctly Oisín*"

"So, why were there anyway pre-adamites around so long after Christ came, if there ever were such?"

"I didn't exactly say the fairies were pre-adamites, only that this is one interpretation by my friend Tollers."

"Tollers sounds like a nick-name, what's he really called?"

"I think you met him together with Roy Campbell and Jack Lewis in the bar in Oxford a few years ago."

"That would be Tolkien, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien ..."

"And his friends call him Tollers now and then."

"But are there other theories?"

"Some have guessed demons. A Catholic Bishop after the Reformation pretty much denied it, since they disappeared at the Reformation. 'Their songs were all Hail Mary's' he wrote."

"And demons having no bodies, they might appear, but hardly beget, so that would hardly explain us having 'fairy blood' - or Mrs Lefay having such either."

"Angels and demons are - according to one Church Father, I think St John of Damascus, but we can look it up later - and he mentioned angels only, but it would go for demons too, since they are fallen angels, 'incorporeal as compared with us, but corporeal as compared with God' - so it is not impossible they could have engendered. It seems it was a great sin for them to do so, at least if Ethiopians are right in accepting their text of Henoch, but they could, with same reservation."

"Would that be the Nephelim, who are their children?"

"In such a case, the Nephelim were begotten that way."

"But weren't they giants?"

"Those referred to in Genesis seem to have been so, yes."

"Any other possibilities?"

"If you ask Owen Barfield, who is a Theosophist, you might get some Blavatsky like or some Cacey like stuff about Atlantis and Lemuria and Mu and about men from outer space ... if you and your sister are right about Geocentrism being true, we can at least rule that out."

"Hey, have you been reading my sister's essay on Ramandu and Galileo or something?"

"I have. And do not ask how I came over it, I won't tell you until you are my wife."

Susan got a bit flushed in the face about that: "But you did ask me to make the tea although I am not the hostess yet?"

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Now that Nathan Coon was gone, the small and thin man opened up. The goggled man from the party went to get some more alcohol - he had a headache and wanted to make it go away (he had not thought of drinking a pint of water before going to bed), and left the small thin man together with the would be ravisher from the river. Since he comes back in this story, I might as well tell you he is called George White.

"We have to use shrinks, but even I have difficulties about standing them."

"Who hasn't?" said George White.

"You know, there were the good old days, before he got in ... and before you did."

"So, what were you up to?"

"You know, and you would not want to know."

"Apart from sacrifice to Tash, the inexorable, the ..."

"Shh - don't name him, you are not as highly initiate yet!"

"Sorry, slip of the tongue ..."

"You will pay the usual penalty."

"When you come around to it - meanwhile, what were you up to?" George White knew he was right on the technical issue and that humouring a nostalgic moment could earn him some leniency (and maybe recognition for not having named the fact that these sacrifices were human ones). A few days hence he would be sorry for that.

And the thin and small man told his story:

"As quite a few here, I have Telmarine roots. On an island there lived a few pirates, who founded a kingdom in another world and generations later some came back. Seems less time happened on the island than in that other world ..."

He wondered if George White was going to ask what he meant by "other world", and the younger man was wise enough not to.

"Might have heard of such things in your studies of the Kabbalah, I reckon. Even Catholics have admitted that their God could create more worlds than this one. Now, this means we have a past with more centuries than other people - our history folded out over the histories of two worlds, not just one. One thing we do recall from the other world was a lion sending us back here. Some adore him. Some think he is Christ. Some on the other hand prefer to worship Tash - whom you unwisely named - who was adored by another nation of the other world and in secret by some Telmarines over there as well. He was the enemy of Aslan."

He paused.

"My father worshipped Tash, and I was very small when first initiated into the mysteries of pain ..."

George shuddered. The older one relished his discomfort and went on:

"... and of power. I wondered all my life since whether Tash exists in this world too. I searched into Delphic Apollo, into Shiva, even into Odin for a while ... until I found out in a Christian Catechism that Christ has an enemy. Then I knew Tash exists in this world too. Then I founded our august society with altogether thirteen of us."

"So you actually know that Narnia is a country in that other world?"

"Of course, but I cannot tell that to Coon. I had to swear an oath, which it costs pretty much to break."

George felt extremely ill at ease when he realised why the older one felt free to tell him and none else. But now the other young man came back with a few drinks, and the small talk finished.

"Spivvins" she blurted out. She looked at one of the men - broad shouldered, about her own age (with a ring on the left hand) - who had sung the Dies irae. "What are you doing here?"

"Father died in the crash. I just learned about it and came along with our other relatives. Half the family is Catholic, half are Protestant."

"Protestant as Anglican, you mean?"

"Funny, in Canada every Anglican considers himself a Protestant, more or less. In England there are even people who call themselves Anglican Catholics."

"Well, it was an Anglican hymn these others were singing."

"Indeed, family's divided."

"I neither knew you were Catholic nor that you were from Canada."

"So Eustace kept it a secret even from you?"

"It was a secret then?"

"Father came as an Anglican missionary to the Esquimeaux. Then he was shocked at certain Anglican things in relation with the Esquimeaux and converted, with his wife and children, to the Catholic Church."

"So, he lost the work as an Anglican missionary then?"

"He worked as a cab driver."

"A cab driver with horses or a taxi driver?"

"Both. When horses were no longer used, he sold the remaining one to the countryside outside Birmingham."

"Must have been nicer for the horse than being in town with all the cars."

"What father thought too. Here he is:" - and Spivvins pointed to a man she recognised with a shock. It was the taxi driver who had protected her a last night after the party.

"Oh no! Not him!" She burst into tears again.

"How so? Did you know him?"

"Just a few hours ago he saved my life basically. There was this half mad guy who was so mean after we came to my house. And a taxi driver - exactly he here - steps in to save me. Even though he was older and less agile than the young soldier ..."

"But why did you come here?"

"Well, for one thing all three siblings are dead, and then my cousin and my archery pupil and two old friends of ours."

"What cousin? You don't mean Eustace?"

"I sure do! Here he is."

Spivvins just looked at Eustace - lifeless, but a little as if turning in his sleep, only he was absolutely still, as a corpse is. Instead of crying he bent down and said:

"Now you can tell, it's a secret no more. You tell it in Heaven, I tell it here, I am Catholic. But I owe you a prayer or two."

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

She looked out of Errol's yard, and policemen were there looking everywhere except to the yard and house itself. She was sacred at first, but then she saw one turn his head towards her and go on turning it as if he had not seen her. It was not one of the two that had been in the tree, nor any of those she had yet seen. He did not see her, although she was unarmed and just one yard away from him, with a small pallisade between. He went on looking just where none was. Then she went in again.

"What is happening, Errol?"

"I was asking you the same - have you practised archery more recently without telling me?"

"Hmm ..."

"You can trust me, you see, the policemen are not seeing my house, nor will I betray you."

"That was what I was asking you about. It's as if they were hypnotised not to see any of our house or as if we were in a ..."

"Fairy mound? Maybe we kind of are."

"But we see no fairies, and we are no fairies ourselves?"

"I was just wondering whether you were. Since the fairy mound is where we are, both of us must have some fairy blood."

"I am sure I have none. Earliest known relative was a charwoman."

"Ah ... my earliest known relative was a widowed duchess - who abdicated the duchy and left it with her sons as soon as House of Lords did nothing to prevent the horrors that were done on Indians in Canada. I mean, even if it was the House of Commons were those actively voting the Residential Schools - I will tell you another time - the House of Lords should have stood up against it. One Earl would have, but was dead, his widow was not allowed to speak for him, since she was a woman, and their daughters, Fanny and my mother were brought up under the name Kirrin after the property the duchess kept after renouncing the title. It was an old property with a bay and an island."

"Kirrin Bay and Kirrin Island - like George's place?"

"Georgina is my cousin on my mother's side. She used to be called George up to the last few years. Yes."

"So that means your maternal grandmother left off being a duchess much as I left off being a teacher?"

"Something like that. Now the funny thing is, I heard from one Professor Kirke that back then there were three people of fairy blood - one Mrs Lefay who was godmother to his uncle, one duchess, and one charwoman."

"And so we are here as the last fairies of England?"

"And on some fairy ground, since the police are not seeing the fairy mound."

"Well I never ..."

"But we are not quite fairies either. We are human, since we have lived human lives."

The morning came. Susan was not quite comfortable. Nor were the Spivvins family. Just to raise spirits a bit, they took holly tea for breakfast. No solid foods. As said, if it came to shooting, they were far better off with nothing in the stomach.

There was no clock in the house. Sun rose slowly. After each of them had gone for a pee, they boiled another kettle of holly tea. They were sipping and just getting a little calmer when they heard a motorised sound. Police had come around. "I stay" said Susan, "you know what you have to be doing." They hurried towards the kitchen wall to the right. The smallest daughter was left to look through the window behind. All held handkerchiefs in the left hand, and knew what to do if needed.

The car - which was really a van - stopped in the yard, and a policeman honked. Heavily. More than once, twice, three times over. Five men stepped out - though this the Spivvins and Susan knew only somewhat later.

The doorbell rang. The doorbell rang again. And again. And again. It stopped ringing. "Have it your way!" called a voice.

Susan breathed more heavily as the door began to boom under the blows of strong uniformed policemen united in armed burglary with kidnapping intentions. She rose and picked up her bow, put the arrow on the string, but did not yet point it and draw the string back. As the door broke open she stood facing them. She saw three, and at once shouted: "you are breaking into peaceful people's homes without a cause!"

Now she recognised the foremost policeman - the one who had looked so evil and so small last time she was into archery. He recognised her too, as she could tell from his face. "Ah no ..." he said and put his hand on the pistol.

She drew the string back, and she let the arrow go - twang - as his hand and pistol were rising. A straight hit - chuck - in his arm. He yelled and let the pistol go. Next arrow - pointed more to the left, twang, chuck - hit the right hand policeman behind him in the right shoulder. Only the left hand policeman still had his right hand functional, and the small police officer was in front of him. "Turn!" he moaned as his pain allowed him to use his voice.

They did but shouldn't have. Susan pointed a third arrow - twang, chuck - in his butt. As the other policeman turned back again towards Susan, she was already out of arms range - behind a wall next to the kitchen door. "Your turn!" she yelled. Spivvins took his bow, rolled over on the floor in front of the hall, shot at that third policeman. Twang, chuck! A marksman he was, he hit the arm as well. And as the policeman ran back out, he too had - twang, chuck - an arrow in his butt.

"Tear gas," shouted Susan as the police deployed this. All fell down and used the handkerchiefs to protect their eyes. Spivvins rose and ran outward with the bow - and was - pang - immediately shot in the leg. One of the wounded men knew how to use his left hand with a pistol. He fell, but aimed another arrow to the one of two policemen who held the gas bottles. Twang, chuck. One gas bottle less to reckon with. The other guy turned and ran towards the car, where the first wounded were already waiting for him, twang chuck, he ran no more since he had an arrow through the knee from behind.

Meanwhile Susan had been running bent over as well as she could under the tear gas. Pang, she had a wound in upper arm, but only superficially. Though she was crying her eyes out from the gas, and the pain in the arm, she aimed a last shot at the unlucky first policeman who had - twang chuck - a sore arrow wound in his left arm too now. He dropped the pistol.

Eight arrows, five policeman wounded. One pistol shot, only Susan wounded. But not disarmed. She yelled "leave the car" and pointed a ninth arrow at the men, and Spivvins pointed a tenth at them from the ground. They could have shot back or tried more gas, but had had enough. This was not their usual fare when breaking up families. They opeyed and left the police van. As fast as their wounds allowed.

Spivvins was despondent. "Do you think it was Eustace who told them, after all?" - "No. Couz came around and after that he would have shut his mouth under torture." She had a memory of Jill telling her so around a cup of tea, after archery lesson. Years ago. Good old Jill ... dratted old train accident! Couldn't she at least have returned to Narnia even once?

"Well, whoever told them, they sure have connexions now ... and they know how to abuse them."

"So, what did they tell you?"

"They are coming over these days to take my wife and me to mental institutions, unless we comply with the program (which we haven't) and our children to some foster home."

"All for a little theobromine?"

"Yes, and Cholmondeley Major's dog who over ate holly berries and died."

"You could not have told her not to let the dog eat that?"

"Think she would listen? To me?"

"What is theobromine anyway?"

"They call it a poison. It is the poison you find in chocolate and chocolate will kill dogs too. It's not far away from caffeine and very close to theophylline."

"And you find it in holly, in chocolate, in what more?"

"In yerba maateh, if you know South America. The plant's a relative of holly - even creationists think it's the same created kind!"

"So Cholmondeley Major's dog ate it, died as if poisoned by chocolate, and now ...?"

"Her buddies are in the child welfare department. You can imagine ..."

"So, why didn't you tell her she couldn't visit you? You knew it would be trouble."

"Right, but - as I said - her buddies are in the child welfare department, and if I had shoved her off, she would have ruined our family even earlier."

"I think I will try some archery ..." Susan said with a very ungentle glee.

Mrs Spivvins - with nice Esquimeau eyes - opened her mouth for the first time: "do you think it will help a lot?"

"I don't know. I tried to save Rose Pole's baby from forced abortion that way, I haven't heard of her so far."

"Were you all right?" asked Mrs Spivvins.

"Not quite." Susan's smile was a bit wry what with memories of getting to mental hospital. You have already read that of course.